


Grand Refusal

by smjaygal



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, BUCKETS OF ANGST, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, M/M, Matespriteship - Freeform, Multi, Suicide mention, moirailigence, ptsd mention, quadrants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2441753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smjaygal/pseuds/smjaygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Gamzee got to Nepeta first so Equius walked in on a dead meowrail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loss

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off a fanart floating around tumblr at http://who-i-am-is-who-i-am.tumblr.com/post/81238612758/what-if-gamzee-had-killed-nepeta-first It was the whole reason I even decided to write this longass monstrosity. Also, in case any of you were wondering YES THIS MADE ME CRY HUGE CROCODILE TEARS DON'T TOUCH ME.
> 
> Update: I DO plan on finishing this. I've just had my life hardcore explode so there WILL be an ending, I promise.

“I will _not_ kneel,” you insist to the highblood, pulling the arrow straight out of your knee with a hiss loud enough that you’re sure it can be heard up to the respiteblocks.

“You will all up and _do_ as I motherfuckin _say_ ,” Makara insists, makeup contorting into a visage that would terrify any lesser troll as he snaps his bow in two. You’re not sure as to what end he plans to use this for, exactly, but the action alone is certainly more than a bit ludicrous. What use could he have of a broken bow? He certainly can’t shoot with it, the idiot. Then he spits out another word you didn’t expect. “ _Peasantblood_.”

That is what finally pushes you past the breaking point, the thing that shatters your usually impeccable self-restraint. You cannot hold yourself back, cannot refrain. Your precious moirail is on the floor as a pool of her own green blood coagulates around her. Your leader demanded you confront the highblood (who is now using your kinks against you, much to your udder disdain) so confront him you will, if nothing else but to avenge your beloved Nepeta.

“NO!” you practically roar, fist connecting with pulpy flesh and you hear a crack that tells you his jaw is most likely broken. “I WILL _NOT_!”

The highblood - no, _Gamzee_ , you think to yourself, forcing yourself to face the reality of his actual name - literally flies into the wall and you are rewarded with the sound of a sickening crunch. You don’t give him time to recover, however. You have an advantage he doesn’t - your STRONG muscles you have honed through years of practice. Gamzee’s, in comparison, have only atrophied due to inactivity and malnourishment despite his higher caste which would normally have given _him_ the advantage. Not to mention the element of surprise is overwhelmingly yours to exploit, seeing as the juggalo didn’t consider you’d disobey a direct order from higher up the hemospectrum.

You’re astonished with yourself, if you’re perfectly honest, but you push it to the back of your head to confront later. No doubt you’ll dissect every painful second in great detail to further torment yourself since that is your tendency after all. Dust particles and chunks of wall begin flying about as you scream the foulest obscenities at the top of your lungs, much out of character for you even when taking into consideration your ridiculous amounts of rage. Your eyes are blinded with blue tears as you literally use the other troll as your personal punching bag.

You don’t know how much time passes, but indeed it does, and you’re left slamming a lifeless corpse into the walls again and again and again, with your bare hands much like a grotesque version of his clubs he just used. It’s not a corpse anymore so much as a bunch of meaty flesh connected to sinew and bone. And even that is very quickly disintegrating between your fingers. Soon enough, they’ll be empty.

You are screaming, howling, and blind. You haven’t yet realized Gamzee was good and dead with the first punch into the wall. You shattered his spine with the impact - or his bones, at the very least -  and even if that hadn’t done it, your fist broke his nose, shoving it straight into his brain and smashing his skull well against whatever it was you hit. Certainly not metal considering the dust particles. Your unrestrained strength is rather a thing to behold. After all, it was you who broke Nepeta’s spine with a simple hug but you also replaced it with her current tail. You were more cautious after that incident. Well, until now of course.

Eventually, though it takes a rather extensive length of time that many would consider ludicrous, or at least obscene, you do exhaust your energy almost entirely and curl into a ball of over muscled misery. You’ve forgotten the highblood momentarily as you crawl your way over to Nepeta, exhausting what little energy you managed to retain. There’s purple staining your hands and fingers, blood all over your body but you couldn’t give a single darn about any of it. You hope against hope that she isn’t as bad as she looks, though you do fear the worst.

_Please, please don’t let her be gone. Please be alive. Would it be too much to ask for just another shattered spine?_

You don’t move her tiny body, of course. You can’t bring yourself to even lie a finger against her skin. It would be very bad if you caused more injury, though you highly suspect something you would rather not consider. You can’t bring yourself to until you actually confirm, or the thoughts alone will be your undoing. The top of her head is covered in olive green, the same color that stained Gamzee’s clubs, and her eyes are shut with a pained expression twisting her features. You eye the rest of her and find that one of her wrists is bent at an odd angle. Her chest doesn’t move.

You let out a shuddering breath. _No_.

The metallic tang of blood lies heavy in the air. It coats your tongue, crawling down the back of your throat in an attempt to strangle you from the inside out. More blue leaks from the corners of your eyes and you yank your stupid, useless glasses off to see her better. They don’t even help worth a darn, being all cracked like they are. Nepeta had always insisted that you needed something better. You should have listened but rarely did. Stupid you. Her face, once so pretty, is now broken and lifeless.

You hear the tiniest of coughs. Your bloodpusher squeezes.

Your eyes widen and hers flutter open just a touch, though glazed. “Eq...uius...?”

“Nepeta. I am here,” you answer fervently as she coughs again, olive staining her mouth. Her fate is abundantly clear to you, and your greatest desire is to beat yourself with your fists for it, but she needs _you_ now, not some angry monster. So you focus. For her.

The fingers of her good hand move feebly to form a V shape above her chest and, trembling, you form one with your own hand to complete the diamond. Please no. Anything but this. A broken spine, shattered limbs, even a crushed skull are all things you could fix. But not this. You can’t fix this. Her mouth settles into a peaceful smile and she chokes out something barely audible. Had you not been listening intently, you would have missed it.

“I. Love you.”

Her eyes flutter closed and she lets out one last, raspy breath, wrist going limp. All you can hear are screams of her name filling your ears, and you know without a doubt that she is now dead as you first presumed her to be. You take her in your arms, resting her small head in your lap and just keen endlessly, the cry of a broken troll.

If only you had been here sooner! Seen that she was alive sooner! You could have helped her and _then_ taken care of the highblood. She should have been first priority and you failed her. You’ll never forgive yourself for this egregious sin and you don’t even dare let your blue tears stain her pallid cheeks. You will never be worthy, never were if you allowed her this fate. You want to keep her looking just like this, gentle and sweet. And you really can’t bear to see your color taint her soft skin, now can you?

Eventually, you wipe the green gently off of her with the end of your shirt and take a look around. The sight is, in a word, grotesque. It seems as if you ripped Gamzee Makara to shreds for touching your moirail. But you know better. You literally picked him up and swung him around the room like so many robot parts. There’s not even enough left of him to be properly recognizable, save perhaps the color, and you sigh a “fiddlesticks” under your breath wearily. This will be a mess to clean.

“Equius?” a harsh, almost guttural, voice greets your ears and you glance up, vision blurry. How long had the small troll been standing there? And just how much violence had he witnessed at your hand?

“Vantas?”

He strolls over cautiously, as if he’s stepping over cluckbeast shells, almost like a ballerina ready to spring away at the slightest hint of danger. Maybe he’s scared you’ll lose yourself again and hurt him. No. You won’t. You’re too tired for it, really. And you’re all out of steam to do damage to anyone, least of all yourself.

Besides, he hadn’t done anything to deserve violence. Unlike the complete nook sucking juggalo who no longer existed.

He kneels and takes one purple stained hand in his, gently rubbing the color away with his surprisingly gentle fingers. You’re surprised to find the pads calloused. “Are you ok now?”

“No.”

Which is true. You’ll never be ok again.

He just nods, eyebrows furrowed. “Would you like to carry her, or should I?”

“May I do it?” your voice is tired, weary as if you’ve not slept in sweeps.

It _feels_ true, at least, even as it’s not. You were on your pile of broken tools just a relatively short time ago with this same girl curled against your chest. You’d felt her breathe against you, sighing in her sleep. Nepeta had smiled about something as she nuzzled closer to your skin, purring. Something she’ll never get to do again, something you’ll never hear from her throat. You know you don’t deserve the honor of carrying her, and yet you can’t bring yourself to release your gentle moirail.

He extends a hand and you look at it puzzled before realizing his intentions. You’ll have to put Nepeta down. Your internal dilemma lasts about five minutes but Karkat doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to, understanding your internal dilemma. He just holds out his hand until you take it. Which is a process, considering. You put your hand very gently on his and use it as balance instead of using it for actual help so as not to crush the fragile bones of his fingers. You stand slowly, as if ancient, to your feet before he picks up your precious moirail and places her gingerly in your outstretched arms.

Neither of you mention his rather gruesomely departed quadrantmate painting the walls around you in chunks and smears. You’re careful to step over the smatters on the floor, hoping he understands. But at this point, there’s not a whole lot of feeling left so it’s more of a vague twinge in the back of your mind. It’s much like when you sit down at your bench for long periods of time and one of your legs starts feeling odd. That’s you now. Tingly in the worst way.

And it just. Won’t. Stop.

Karkat leads you up and away from the carnage. What’s the body count now? Gamzee, Nepeta, Sollux, Eridan, Vriska, Feferi, Tavros. About seven or so bodies. You can’t think about it, the horror inflicted over the past however long. Aradia also blew up but she was a robot and didn’t have a body to add to said count. Gods help you, you’ll need to figure out how to keep robots from doing that eventually since clearly that was a malfunction in the manufacturing. Your fault. Everything’s your fault. But there’s too much to think about right now though.

Gently, your leader convinces you to leave Nepeta with him on top of the meteor. It involves an obscene amount of papping and gentle, coaxing words you previously had no consciousness of his ability to utter. But somehow, you’re collecting all the bodies you can find and taking them to the top to determine something to do with later. Probably toss them into the sun since it’s somehow managed to come close enough to all of you to be seriously potentially dangers. It makes you nervous.

Though you do entertain thoughts of flinging yourself into its depths for disappointing Nepeta. Perhaps it would be the best course of action.

By the time all the bodies are lined up, heads included, there are two humans standing about. One is dressed in red, the other in a florescent orange and appear rather similar in stature and build. You’re not particularly interested in them, however. They don’t appear murderous in the least though you’re confused as to the apparition of a bucket and Karkat foaming at the mouth. It appears that everything has gone even further to hell in your absence. Perfect.

“Who’s the big guy with all the muscles?” the individual you suppose is male asks. The voice sounds male at least.

“That is Equius,” Kanaya replies. “Don’t mind him. He just lost a dear friend today and most likely won’t feel like conversation for the foreseeable future.”

You tune out, moving over to Nepeta to hold her close again. It’s awkward for everyone involved to see you so emotional, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as your shoulders shudder. There’s no noise but it’s enough of a display to quiet those around you. Aradia moves to put her hand on your shoulder. You know it’s her by the red sleeve peeking from the corner of your vision. There’s no one else it could be.

“Equius,” she kneels down to ensure you can look in her face. “We’re going to throw the corpses into the sun. Will you be fine with that?”

You let out a shuddering sigh, wiping at the tears on your face. “I… I believe so. She wouldn’t have wanted me to keep her around. Could you do it quickly please? I don’t think… I don’t… I’m not strong enough –”

She nods and too soon, Nepeta is gone in a burst of green. The others follow but your brain doesn’t register it really. More bursts of green. But Nepeta… Nepeta is gone. Forever. You’ll never get her back no matter what. She’s left you with a burst of green just like that as if she hadn’t ever existed in the first place. But she had. Or you wouldn’t have that smell stuck in your nose.

So you sit, looking at the sun. You wonder if it really would be the best decision to run headlong into it. You’d never before considered suicide but you’d also never hated yourself this much. Would anyone stop you?

Just as you think this, Aradia is in front of you again, whispering gentle words. “You still have things to do, Equius. Come now, it wouldn’t do anybody any amount of good if you died right now. Nepeta wouldn’t want it anyways. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Nodding absentmindedly, you let her take your hand and guide you away, steps fumbling in your numbness.

You don’t care that it’s incredibly rude to all parties involved, you leave without dismissing yourself, led carefully by Aradia. She leaves you outside Nepeta’s respiteblock before returning to the others.

Somehow, she knew there are things you need to do before anybody else comes tromping down here like so many hoofbeasts. Like hide her shipping wall from prying eyes. That was _hers_ , something personal and private. You can’t even look at it without sobbing once more. It makes moving crates and barrels to cover the chalk drawings nearly impossible but you don’t stop until the area is entirely inaccessible to any but you. Only a troll with your STRENGTH could move such heavy obstacles.

And with all your exhausted faculties, you can barely manage to do so yourself.

You block off the door too. You’re not ready to go through her belongings just yet. The pain is too fresh but you wouldn’t be able to stand it if someone were to get the idea to snoop around. You’ll look at them later when your bloodpusher isn’t so raw with emotion.

You only have enough energy to find the nearest pile. Which would be behind her door had you put any length of thought into your actions. But you’re not about to move the crates you _just_ put there. So you drag yourself up to your own quarters through some feat of something inside you previously unknown to yourself. You’d call it super strength but you already have that. It’s something else that drives you forward. Perhaps self-loathing. You’ll dwell on it later. Most likely when there aren’t so many stairs in your way.

Finding your pile of broken wrenches, you allow yourself to stop standing long enough to get one in your eye on the way down. Ow. Oh well. You’ll live at least. That’s going to be a serious headache when you wake up, however. While you’re not looking forward to it necessarily, it’ll give you some sort of feeling outside the tingles buzzing just beneath your skin.

Sniffling, you find you have no words left for yourself. No thoughts either. You’re filled with nothing. No energy, no emotions, no tears. You barely manage to keep breathing. All that’s present is that gosh darned sensation that refuses to leave your entire body. It’s cold and pressingly painful, restricting movement from all axis. It’s become rather annoying if you’re being honest with yourself.

Something inside you tells you to remove your glasses before settling completely for sleep while the rest of you battles to care enough about the situation to do so. But before anything can completely register in your broken thinkpan, you’re out.

All you see is black.


	2. Bulgefuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat finds a depressed Equius and does what he can to be proactive about helping his friend feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is so much angst in this chapter even after the fluff in the beginning. Just a heads up that this will be a fic with a LOT of angst. I'm so sorry.

Life becomes a meaningless fog without your moirail to ground you. Most of the time, you lie on your pile and just exist, if you could even call it that. You’re a disgusting sack of uselessness. You can’t even care for yourself.

You're occupying yourself with drifting in and out of consciousness on your wrench pile when you're forcefully ripped from your nigh-comatose state by a hand on your horn. Of course it's Karkat, come to check on one of the only survivors of the team.

“Hey,” it’s that soft tone again, the one he’d used when he found you down below. “Hey, get up.”

Your limbs obey his command though his words buzz like static in your mind, passing in one ear and out the other. You're not processing the fact that you’ve been here for literal days without food or an ablution. You still smell like corpses and it causes the mutant to wrinkle his nose in disdain though he has the tact to avoid commenting on it for the time being. You’d find this interesting if you still had any measure of thought process left, since usually Karkat isn’t the type to shut up about anything. Hmm. Subconsciously, you file this away for later inspection.

Somehow, you’ve ended up in an ablution trap with a shorter troll tugging at your pants. This is enough to snap consciousness into your body to register the fact that this isn’t something that should probably be happening right now. Your pants should not be headed towards the floor under any circumstances.

“Vantas! I –” your voice cracks, sounding unfamiliar to your own ears. He persists against your feeble protest.

“It’s fine,” he uses that same tone. “You reek like a squeakbeast crawled through its own entrails and rotted. You've been all but dead since Gamzee decided to go murderclown, so it's high time that you got a goddamn bath. Don't even bother arguing, because you clearly lack the cognition required to bathe yourself. Now get your sweaty shirt off before I forcefully rip it from you.”

You comply, a dull voice in the back of your mind insisting that having him seeing you in a state of undress like this is ridiculously inappropriate, but almost immediately afterwards you're pushed none too gently into the tub, the bubbly water effectively screening everything you wouldn't typically let anyone see. And oh _gosh_ that’s really warm. It's warmer than what you would expect upon being plunged into a gigantic tub full of water.

And oh. Those are hands. On your scalp. The tension you didn't know you felt in your shoulders dissipates as you sink further into the water, purrs echoing off marble as he massages shampoo into your hair. Oh goodness it feels delicious. The last time you were treated so well-

Your mood falls immediately back to the depths from which it dug itself. Nepeta was the last one to have her fingers in your hair. You would feelings jam as she rubbed in oils and combed through the long locks. But now there’s a different pair of hands, feeling completely different than hers. He’s so gentle though. So blessedly gentle.

Neither of you says a single word throughout the bath and you’re very grateful Karkat has assumed you can at least scrub yourself while he makes a move to retrieve fresh clothes and a few towels for you. Surprisingly, he returns with a brush as well. Though if the lowblood managed to get you into a bathtub with few words, there is no doubt in your mind he’ll get that brush through your hair one way or another.

You don’t mind this as much as you think you should, sitting when ordered.

When your hair is about halfway done, the grumpy troll finally speaks up. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? I thought you killed yourself. But no. I finally find you curled up like a little wriggler without a lusus in a pile of stinking wrenches smelling like you just fucked about five different corpses.”

He doesn’t let you respond, plowing forward with his words. “You really worried me, hoofbeastfucker. Didn’t hear a damn thing from you for _days_. Then I show up and you’ve fucking withered away.”

“Sorry,” you barely manage and you feel his forehead knock against the back of your skull in an almost affectionate gesture.

“Don’t be, you bulgefuck.” He really is gentle for someone who swears so much isn’t he? “You’re _mourning_ so you’re going to be really fucking weird. Just don’t… don’t disappear like that again ok? I’ve already lost too many friends as it is.”

You wait for him to finish before turning around to bring him into a gentle hug, grateful for everything he’s done for you. He found you after Nepeta’s death and now has managed to wake you up a bit and bathe you.

You really owe this grumpy little guy so much.

~

It takes time, but you can eventually talk to Karkat about her death, though it’s in halting bursts on rare occasion. A few words here. Then a sentence or two there. It’s always when he’s managed to find you on your usual pile and dragged you away to care for yourself in one way or another. It’s usually that you’ve forgotten to eat or drink. It’s an oddity that you’ve managed to forget you need nourishment.

You’re almost to your destination when you begin properly using your voice once more, holding real conversations again. He explains in the smallest most digestible of details how he came to find you down there amidst literal _pieces_ of the highblood. Only as much as he thinks you can handle.

He’d heard you screaming uncharacteristic obscenities about a particular troll who was going to die in an especially painful manner befitting of someone who would dare harm your sweet, precious Nepeta, and you believe it. You barely remember what happened, so who’s to say it didn’t? Anything could have occurred, and what he verbalized probably did, judging by just how much (or little, depending upon perspective) remained on the walls (which was entirely repulsive, in your opinion). That room was sealed off because nobody could entirely scrub away the purple.

It was actually more accurate to state that no one wanted to enter the room to clean it in the first place. You really don’t blame them.

You come to realize Gamzee died on impact the more you reflect on the incident, painful as it remains. There’s no fathomable way he hadn’t, from your experience at least. His demise was short and violent which makes you _much_ angrier than you care to admit. Nepeta’s death was long and painful and the scum who murdered her deserved at least that much, so in a way you feel as if you’ve failed the greatest love you’ve ever known. You didn’t even double check to see if she was still breathing. You’re such a waste.

You don’t deserve to live but you don’t have the first idea about how to stop breathing either. Not to mention, your leader mentioned not wanting to lose any more friends in the foreseeable future. So you don’t necessarily look to put an end to your misery. Perhaps the pain of failure is your proper punishment rather than sweet release. You never can make up your mind about which would be better. It only makes you hate yourself more.

Karkat has more than become a great comfort through the long nights. He’ll hold your hand when you cry like the stupid, useless little wriggler you are. He will never be Nepeta – no one could come close – but the similar feeling of your big hand in his smaller one strikes a chord in your bloodpusher. One you haven’t felt in a very long time.

He knows she used to comb through your hair, apply oils and pamper you, so he takes this up as well without a word as to why. Honestly, how else would you be able to keep such unruly hair in control? Tavros had his mohawk and Eridan his hair gel. But Karkat and Gamzee had wild untamed mops. Feferi's hair was genuinely intimidating when she didn’t spend hours in front of a mirror.

Through it all though, you stay silent even as he babbles gentle croons into your ear about how good you are with his hands elbow deep in your thick mane, how positively gentle your hands are when you pap his face halfheartedly in response. Granted, it’s full of the lewdest of swears but you get the gist. He rubs at your horns and lets you bury your face in his neck and just weep in grief when he’s through.

He’s not your moirail but over time, he has become a dear friend. And that’s what makes all the difference, the one thing that keeps you from actually researching a way to stop breathing. He’s the thing that’s made up your mind about living. What you didn’t realize was just how awful he was feeling over the ordeal and just how selfish you’d been, stealing his time from him.

It had been some time since Nepeta died, long enough that you could go through her things even if doing so caused more than a few tears. It took a few days and Karkat found you holed up, curled around one of her shirts, shaking. He’d led you out so you could calm down before letting you plunge back in to sort through things.

The hat she had dyed your color was destroyed in the sun along with her body but you do block off her shipping wall with even more crates than before. Literally anything you can find no one else should be able to move goes into the blockage. You don’t want anyone to see it because it was hers and you really didn’t do a great job at hiding it the first time around. This isn’t a mistake you repeat as it was private so it should be protected at all costs.

You leave most of her belonging as she did more because it helps you to think that maybe one day you’ll see her in a dreambubble again but also because she never did like her things messed with even by you. You’d rather not have a dreambubble Nepeta chew you out for touching her things. You know she’ll have forgiven you and she’ll be upset for not forgiving yourself but you’re not quite ready for that. Instead, you snatch one of her shirts to sleep with because it still smells like her and it calms you so much. It somehow abates the nightmares as if by magic.

It’s been far too long since you’ve managed to sleep without them.

You had no idea how personally Karkat had taken any of what happened until one day, long after you began speaking to others again, you overheard choked sobbing. Confused and curious, you peered around a corner to see Karkat with his face buried in Kanaya’s lap. She was stroking his horns and petting his hair, making clicking noises. This was far too intimate to stumble across and so decide to to walk away when you heard what she was saying.

“...not a bad leader, Karkat. You couldn’t have predicted Gamzee would do that.”

You freeze in your tracks. They’re talking about that night you so sorely regret. You can’t bring yourself to move, ice running through your veins. Oh crap. You definitely do _not_ need to hear this.

“I couldn’t protect anyone, Kanaya. That makes me a really shitty leader and I deserve a bonebulge stuffed wastechute deep in my grubhole for sending Equius after him. I put him in danger; Nepeta too. That was a super fucked up thing to do! I should have fucking owned up to the situation and done it myself. I should have gone the fuck down there and shoosh papped my own moirail calm instead of-”

No, that wasn’t right. Gamzee had gone off the deep end and he’d been the only one with enough strength to have a fighting chance against the highblood. How could Karkat blame himself? How could you have let him blame himself?

_Oh dear. You really are a terrible friend, aren’t you?_

“No,” Kanaya insists patiently. “You lost a moirail but that’s not your fault. He was out of control and frightened us all.”

You manage to rip yourself away, a motor driving you as far as possible from that conversation. What you heard was enough to devastate you to your core. You had been so wrapped up in losing Nepeta, you hadn’t considered how your actions had also affected Karkat. He and Gamzee were moirails after all, something you had clearly forgotten in your idiotic self-absorption.

_Why are you still breathing? Aren’t you aware how useless you are?_

Somehow, you manage to get yourself back to your own quarters in a pile of just random things, brooding. Some are pillows or wrenches. You had no idea how the horns got here or your shirts but so long as it’s a pile, it works in the end. You are at least mildly certain there is a book or two in there and it strikes you how haphazard the last few weeks had been. You were also vaguely aware that Terezi and Dave had been copulating madly but even after hours (days now?) you have no idea if they still are and you don’t really care.

Your friends have moved on with their lives. Karkat has a new moirail, the humans have integrated themselves to form romantic relationships and where are you? You’re stuck in the darn past, reliving every moment of Nepeta’s last breath. Of her shaking fingers above her chest, barely touching yours.

You are so painfully aware of each and every second of that day. Of Gamzee’s bright red (and frankly terrifying) eyes. But you can’t get a grip on right now.

_You really should have killed yourself when you had the chance._

Time doesn’t mean much so you confuse the now with the past frequently and generally lose sense of everything. You do know you’ve been here for at least a substantial amount of the stuff. Everything is all crossed and you’ve got no idea how to untangle any of it.

You don’t even know what day it is or how long it’s been since she died.

You curl in on yourself and think. It was such an awful thing for you to do, to rely on the moirail of the troll you killed like that without considering his feelings. He must have put up a front for you; keeping himself in check in order to make sure you wouldn’t lose yourself to your darker impulses. This causes a sensation to develop somewhere around the regions of your digestive chute that’s completely unfamiliar.

Is it discomfort? No, much more powerful than that. It hurts, squeezes at your lungs and pushes its way past your throat. It _demands_ to be felt and paid attention. This emotion is slapping you in the face and leaving you gasping with realizations that cause you to sink even further into your black pit of despair.

Karkat was a good leader had your group actually listened to him instead of fiddling around. You tried to as best you could without conflict of interest for hemospectrum or teammates for that matter. It appears you failed, of course, and this coupled you’re your new realization causes you to hate yourself more. You should have been there for Karkat as well or at least contained yourself. You should have been more.

You weren’t strong enough then and you’re not strong enough now. You don’t dare face the thoughts in your head, the idea of what must be bubbling deep from within your bloodpusher. It’s a disgusting notion. Not that you’re above such feelings but that you should be above feeling such specific things about your _dead moirail’s flushcrush_.

This cannot be happening. You cannot feel this way. It’s so wrong and twisted of you and so unfair to everyone involved.

There is no conceivable universe in which you could have possibly become flushed for Karkat Vantas.


	3. Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Equius stumbles across several Nepetas in a dreambubble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to more angst. Also there's going to be angst next chapter as well. Basically this whole fic is a bunch of horny teen angst. Enjoy, fellow Homestuck trash and happy update! Of the fic. Not of mspa because no. That was painful as shit.

Sometime after you’ve managed to doze off again, you feel a familiar set of hands running through your hair. Selfishly, you don’t say anything and just enjoy his fingers at your scalp, relishing the way they comb through your hair and massage around your horns. Your conscience screams that you should say something, but your voice refuses to ruin the moment.

Besides, what would you even say after what you heard? Clearly Karkat was bottling up several issues, shielding you from himself. Of course, it's your fault. _Oh, sorry that I killed your moirail, the one quadrant intended to keep all trolls sane. Terribly sorry. But he murdered Nepeta first so I went on a rage fit. It was an honest mistake_. Yeah. That would go over well.

And how would you explain yourself? Your apology,that is. You could just tell him that you were taking a stroll and happened to overhear something private between him and the jade blooded troll, and that you eavesdropped instead of seeing yourself out like anyone courteous would have done. Yes. Perfect plan. Nothing could possibly go wrong. You have this down perfectly, Equius. No wonder you have all the friends anybody could ever want.

A grumpy sigh from slightly above you pierces the silence.

“I know you’re awake, Equius. You don’t have to fucking pretend like you’re sleeping, idiot.” His coarse voice continues breaking through the relatively comfortable silence. And by relatively comfortable, you mean agonizing. You find yourself sighing in return, sitting up.

“Vantas, I-”

“Save it,” he cuts you off, grabbing for a brush to run through your hair. You’ve no idea where it came from and wouldn’t dare wager a guess looking at the state of your respiteblock. You need help. “I’m here now, so let me take care of you, you giant sweaty bulgesack. Don’t go missing like that again. I thought… it doesn’t matter what I thought exactly. But don’t you fucking _dare_ do that again. Find me whenever you can, dammit!”

The words cause you to smile to yourself as they don’t match his soft tone at all. “I’m sorry?”

“What for? Disappearing for three days in a row? I looked in all the regular places. Our pile we’ve been using in my respiteblock, the command center…” More babbling as usual. Brush. Brush. Scratch. Brush.

“Oh.” You chew your lip. You hadn’t realized so much time had passed. You’d worked on robots, generally fooled around, and slept. Overheard him and Kanaya talking, panicked and… maybe it _had_ been three days. You wouldn’t be surprised. “I didn't realize so much time had passed. My apologies. I shall find you sooner next time.”

You know where his concern lies. You disappeared forever after Nepeta died and he thought you’d gone and killed yourself. A few times after that, he thought the same thing. You’d been getting better, engaging more, so he most likely thought you’d relapsed. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Clearly, Vantas is concerned for your well being and you worried him yet again. There seems to be nothing you can do correctly anymore.

He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath but you ignore it, just letting him brush your hair. You suppose  you might as well attempt to apologize for your previously selfish behavior.

Taking his hands in yours, you still the brush’s movements so he looks you in the eyes, managing to hush his quiet cursing for just a moment. “I've been selfish. For disappearing, and for acting like I have lately. You lost a moirail too.”

He averts his eyes, pulling his hands out of your loose grip to go back to the brushing. “Yeah? So?”

“You're hurting, but I disregarded that for my own needs. It was rude of me and I apologize. You should have been able to speak with me and I only alienated you, forcing you to comfort me and relive the loss of someone very important to you as well,” your own eyes are downcast in shame, fingers wringing in anticipation for the verbal lashing. This has come too little and too late.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” You’re more surprised at the soft tone than the words, and you can't help but look up as his hands continue. “You didn’t alienate me, douchebulge. I did my own thing because you clearly weren't ready to hear a thing from anybody since you were mourning your own moirail. And I guess you were pretty fucking suicidal on top of that. It wouldn’t have been fair to you, and I saw that and dealt with shit privately. Because y’know, you’re my friend and I give a shit about you. Idiot.”

His eyes are soft, eyebrows scrunched up in a little "v" and forming wrinkles in his forehead, and you find your thumb trying to brush them smooth. If you didn't know better, you'd say that his eyes were starting to shine with the threat of tears. However, you're more than aware that your fearless leader doesn’t cry in front of people other than his quadrantmates. And you are very, very aware of just how far from one of those you happen to be.

He stops brushing, eyeing your face as if trying to figure out what you’re doing. You say, “Maybe I would like it if you told me things. Important things. To you I mean.”

Karkat snorts. “Like what? How hard it is to be without a moirail? Joke’s on you, shit for brains. Kanaya’s my moirail now and she’s doing a pretty fucking good job if I say so myself. The job is already taken.”

Before you can psyche yourself out of it, you take the brush from him, set it aside, and pull him close. You’re not sweating. You haven’t done so for a long time, not since Nepeta’s death. There hasn’t been undue stress or pressure and you certainly don’t feel any now. It’s the first time you’ve actively hugged somebody else and it feels both foreign and insanely satisfying.

“Idiot,” Karkat whispers, moving to push a finger to the bridge of your nose. “You’re a complete fucking idiot, you know that?”

“I've been informed on more than one occasion,” your lips crack into a smile and he just snorts, picking up the brush again. “But I should at least convey to you how appreciative I am that you have been here for me despite my… problems.”

The lowblood scoffs and continues running the bristles through your hair. He’s already gotten out the tangles and seems to be continuing for the sake of occupying his hands. “Yeah well, you kind of scared me.”

“Sorry.”

“Shut up,” he growls, not unkindly.

Grinning even wider, you find yourself playing with the edge of your shirt. “You’ve gone soft.”

“Shut –”

“Wouldn’t _Sollux_ like to know?”

“ –up.”

You chuckle to yourself. You might not be the most intelligent or charismatic troll out there, but it’s easy to pretend to be normal and tease Karkat about the black thing he and Sollux have had going on for sweeps now. It’s a bit uncharacteristic for you, to be perfectly honest, but you’re trying not to be nervous about having discovered your feelings for the troll with his arms elbow deep in your hair.

As foreseen, he grumbles in embarrassment about how _fucking insufferable_ Sollux is and that if that particular mustardblood finds out about how he’s gone soft, you’ll be the first to pay dearly for that. You highly doubt these threats but at least the pressure of an imminent feelings jam is off your shoulders.

But not for long.

~

You know you’ve been avoiding sleep for far too long when you pass out while cleaning up robot parts. You know you’ve been avoiding the dreambubbles. You haven’t been ready to see Nepeta again – yours or any version otherwise – and you especially can’t bring yourself to do so after this most recent revelation.

But here you are, looking at your passed out body, covered in motor oil. Beautiful. You’re a complete disaster and you’re nowhere near ready to talk to your very best friend in the whole wide world. In fact you’re _fiddling_ , something you know she absolutely abhors. It’s where you take the edge of your tank top that just touches your shorts and yank it through your fingers agitatedly. And Fate, knowing this through some cruel twist because Fate apparently hates everyone in the multiverse, has decided to crash you straight into a bubble _full_ of dead Nepetas.

Your day is just going splendidly isn’t it? You could just shoot yourself. In the foot. As if you haven’t already. Blast your luck.

“Equius!” three versions of one very familiar voice squeal in unison and _oh hello, ceiling. Looking rather nice today. Shiny metal is shiny._

Shaking yourself back together as you sit up, you realize that three Nepetas must have pounced onto you at once, happy to see you. So Nepeta died in more than one timeline? That’s far too disturbing for your tastes. Especially considering one is covered in a grotesque amount of green. All over her stomach. Perhaps you’re a failure in all conceivable timelines.

“N-nepeta! Hello!” you manage and soon there is a pile of about five on top of you. So much for having tried to sit up earlier. They just keep coming. Out of nowhere. “Why are there so many of you? Oh… oh goodness.”

You feel like there’s a sea of moirail around you, paws in your hair, on your chest, cuddling up to you and it’s entirely overwhelming. Her scent is in your teeth, the sound of her voice beneath your skin but it’s not right. You don’t know why because you had missed her rather dearly but something is wrong. And certainly doesn’t help to have a total of seven surrounding you all wanting hugs and attention. Oh dear. How will you handle yourself?

“Different timelines, sillyface,” the one against your shoulder grins. “Depends on what choices our furrends made. Or we made. Don’t you know how dream bubbles work?”

Her voice. It’s off. Not just that this one seems to have a twisted leg. It’s not _quite_ Nepeta’s voice. It’s a half note higher. It’s not her specifically. Even if it is her. Oh dear. What a predicament.

“In theory, yes,” you admit, two having crawled in your lap.

It’s a chatter, a flurry of each of them explaining how they died. One was in a timeline without the game and Gamzee had gone sober and beaten everyone to death. That Nepeta has more than just her own green on her shirt and you assume it’s because she wasn’t his first murder. Another was victim to Eridan’s doomsday plans involving a landdweller bomb who looked particularly singed all over.

Fell from a cliff and broke her neck while hunting. One is without her hat who apparently gave it to you before her passing and the highblood killed _everyone_ on the meteor save Karkat and Kanaya who could finally subdue him.

They’re all Nepeta, all her. They all have her face, her shirt, her green jacket. Her _tail_ gosh darn it! Every single body surrounding you is Nepeta, is your moirail and yet… They’re not. None of them died before you on the meteor in those conditions you experienced. The closest was the Nepeta who died with everyone save Kanaya and Karkat. And her fingers are just a bit shorter. It’s entirely unnerving as if a copy machine ran out of ink in the process, each copy just a bit lighter than the last but so identical to each other, nearly indiscernible.

It’s a headache and a half is what it is.

Finally, all the introductions over, singed Nepeta piped up. “Have you seen _your_ Nepeta yet?”

“Pardon?”

“ _Your_ Nepeta,” the one soaked in various shades of blood explains. “I mean we’re meowrails and meowrails are for-efur but the Nepeta furrom your timeline. Or did she live purrhaps?”

Oh, if only. If only she had lived so you could cuddle and enjoy each other. If only she had lived and you wouldn’t be riddled full of these bullet wounds known as _feelings_ for a particular red blooded troll with a permanent frown glued to his face. If freaking only….

Your eyes well up with blue tears and you curl in on yourself. 7 pairs of hands find various parts of your body to pap as you break down. “I-I failed her, you. Th-the h-highb-blood….”

It takes some coaxing over the course of what feels like days, hands on your horns and gentle cuddles before you get the story out. How you’d walked into the room and seen her lifeless, crumpled on the floor. Covered in her own green as it crawled across the white tile underneath her. Instead of being rational and examining for signs of life, you’d become a fit of unconfined rage. Gamzee shot your knee but it hadn’t any affect whatsoever except perhaps to annoy you. It hadn’t stopped you from picking him up and using him to hit the walls as you raged at the loss of your moirail.

Splashes of purple. Chunks of flesh. You still don’t like to remember the grotesque details even if they do haunt the corners of your nightmares, the waking shadows of your consciousness. Sometimes you can even remember the _smell_ of all things.

Then the moment. The v of her fingers, the v of your own that made a diamond shape. Her last words. Your howling keens. Karkat’s surprisingly gentle hands and Aradia’s kind offer. The green sun.

It gets too hard to relate after that. You can’t talk about hiding the shipping wall, withering into yourself. They can probably see it anyways.

Sniffling after stumbling to a verbal halt, one Nepeta has managed to find a tissue and cleans your face for you. “Equius, it’s fine. She furrgave you. We… well shit this a whole bunch of dead Nepetas thing is really fucking weird. Look, if I’d seen _my_ Equius put that bastard through a wall, I know I would have been happy to see he’d loved me so much. And he does. You do. You know what I mean.”

Just like Nepeta and you crack a smile, just a faint one. Even if she’s not _your_ Nepeta with that one very specific smell. That one particular way the corners of her eyes lift when she speaks. It can’t be duplicated because no other version of her had exactly her experiences. “I just… I feel as if I’ve failed. I should have checked for life or –”

“Nah,” the one missing her hat rubs at one of your biceps. “Any one of us would have furREAKED if we saw an Equius being killed by anybody. I don’t think any of us would have thought to check to see if he, you, was still alive.”

You nod in a bit of understanding. Well, that’s absolved you suppose. Just a bit. Even if not by your own timeline’s Nepeta, by a few of them who are almost just exactly like her. Enough like her to count at least you suppose. The likelihood of finding her in this vast space is next to impossible if not entirely so. Wouldn’t it take a thousand lifetimes to find her? Maybe more?

You don’t know. But what you do know is that while _these_ Nepetas have eased your conscience just a touch, they haven’t relieved all the pain. You still feel like perhaps the one constant in the universe is your uselessness since so many versions of her died. You truly are an awful troll, a terrible moirail and weak beyond words. Not to mention this current issue that is the final nail in the proverbial human coffin as Rose likes to mention. The truest betrayal of trust. But how do you bring up something like that?

How would you even begin to mention it?

“Equius, what’s wrong?” the one who has been messing with your hair this entire time asks. “You’ve been quiet fur about five minutes now.”

“Nothing’s _wrong_ -”

“But something’s up!” another one chimes in. “We’re all Nepeta and you’re still Equius so we can tell when a meowrail is upset about something.”

Sighing, you cast your eyes aside, a row of teeth gnawing into bottom lip. “I’m not upset necessarily.”

“Just spit it out already!” another insists. Just like her too. And yet not because she is not _your_ Nepeta.

It takes you a few minutes to collect your thoughts, unsure of what exactly to say. Or rather you know _what_ to say but how to put it best is the issue, words caught in your throat, refusing to come up as if threatening to choke you with them. You are flushed for your current Vantas who was your timeline’s Nepeta’s flushcrush. And you’d assume every Leijon across timelines would be flushed for every Vantas. It would only be logical in your opinion. And your current emotion certainly won’t be the easiest to explain. You suppose you have no choice but to just take a shot in the dark and hope for the best.

Clearing your throat, your fingers begin to grip at the bottom of your shirt. One of them is likely to notice, to reprimand you for the action. “Well… I happen…. I believe… I believe I am… flushed… for someone.”

“No way!” one crows and while you had cleared your lap of all but one Nepeta, you suddenly have all of them vying for your attention, wanting to know who the lucky troll is you happen to like.

“Nepeta! Please!”

“Tell!” they all seem to crow as one, excitement in their faces.

“Vantas. I believe I am flushed for Vantas.”

Silence. You could likely hear a boondollar drop if any of you had one to actually perform such action with on your person. Seven pairs of wide, white eyes of death are all turned in your direction. Seven stilled ghosts surround you. No one breathes. You can’t even hear your own heartbeat as if it has stilled in this moment.


	4. Buckets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Equius sees something he's not supposed to and proceeds to feel guilty about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since my beta gave me back TWO chapters when I was expecting one, you guys get a little present. And you deserve it, really you do. Especially after that devastating flash Hussie posted. So here's some self indulgent porn I wrote cause I was feeling like it at the time. It's now made its way into canon. Enjoy.
> 
> And for those of you who haven't seen the revision of the first chapter's note, one of my betas finally found the fanart that this is based off of which you can see here http://who-i-am-is-who-i-am.tumblr.com/post/81238612758/what-if-gamzee-had-killed-nepeta-first so yeah there's that.

You're jerked awake by a hand on your shoulder which had been shaking for a decent amount of time by the feel of it. Of course the very troll you were speaking about with your multiple moirails decided to show up just after you'd dropped the biggest verbal bomb of all time Oh. And he brought food.

Sitting up, you groan and stretch, rubbing at your eyes, Karkat’s mouth already going a mile a minute. “-figured you hadn’t eaten in fuck knows how long so I brought you this. Scared the shit out of me too. I didn’t know you were so goddamned hard to wake up. Next time, I’m letting your sweaty ass stay passed out and hope for the best.”

You just shake your head. He always worries. About everyone and everything like some kind of mothergrub with a bunch of little hatchlings within her care. It’s one of the things you so like about him and _oh._

_Oh dear._

Oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear. It hits you much like you did Gamzee against the wall what just occurred between you and several Nepetas. You couldn’t tell if they were horrified or surprised from their blank, white eyes. And none of you got the change to properly discuss the current happenings in your timeline. Well fiddlesticks. Just your luck then, isn’t it?

“Equius?” the lowblood’s voice breaks your internal train of thought and you realize you’d been silent for at least the last five minutes. “Are you alright?”

You shake your head clear, trying to ignore the twisting that has formed somewhere in the area of your nutrition sac. “Yes, sorry. Still waking up. My apologies.”

He just shrugs and hands you a sandwich of which you eagerly take a bite. You are indeed hungrier than you thought you were and find that despite the queasy, nauseous feeling in your gut, you can, in fact, eat. It feels a touch traitorous, however. Even eating with her flushcrush.

It suddenly occurs to you that he may find out before you’re ready to confess to him, if ever. You feel you must discuss these things with your beloved before proceeding. But what if you’ve given yourself away already? What if Vantas has seen the way your eyes linger over his form, how you avert your gaze when you think he notices? He isn’t unintelligent after all, and he owns nearly every romantic comedy your race had to offer in every possible quadrant combination.

Fiddlesticks.

You find yourself letting him ramble about something along the lines of Sollux being a ‘douche’ as you chew, swallowing thickly. The sandwich almost chokes you but you manage it down. You allow yourself the appropriate ‘uh-huh’s and other such stock remarks required for any conversation with the wordy mutant. Meanwhile, the gears in your thinkpan begin to turn.

When had you begun to feel such things for him? You know you had always found your leader aesthetically pleasing but hadn’t put in much more thought than that as far as you could remember. Was it perhaps all those nights where he just held you close and let you cry into his shirt? Did it happen when he brushed your hair and caressed your horns?

You can’t seem to pin an exact moment you began feeling these things but you do know when you realized it. It was after that conversation you accidentally overheard between him and Kanaya. Red had stained his cheeks from his tears and he had been so completely vulnerable. So _pitiful_ if you had to put a single word to it.

You remember wanting to hold him close and wipe those tears away. You’d wanted to tell him how valued he was, how much you appreciated everything he’d done for you and others. How he’d put himself out there for every single one of his friends without thought of himself no matter how much he ranted on the contrary. You’d wanted to kiss his forehead gently.

“-fucking _blew up my grubtop_ -” and you find yourself nodding, papping his hand gently as you swallow another bite.

You’re glad that interrupted your train of thought before it could get out of hand. As things stand currently, you can feel a light sheen of sweat across your forehead. You pray to whatever exists out there in the void that Karkat doesn’t notice it because it would definitely be an oddity. You haven’t sweated in a long time. No pressure does that. But he’ll know something is up with you and you do your best to control it.

But about an hour later, you absolutely need a shower. You have no idea how your leader didn’t bring up your suddenly returned sweating. You hope he wrote it off as you thinking of the caliginous things he and Captor were likely engaging in somewhere within the bowels of the meteor. That would be the easiest to assume, considering quadrants involving copulation have always made you nervous.

Once clean, you have absolved yourself to spend as little time with Karkat that you can possibly get away with until you can further discuss possible outcomes with your moirail in a dreambubble. Though, you’re sure that will essentially prove harder than intended. When you tell him you’re working on a new project though, you actually see the shorter troll crack a wide smile. He takes it as a sign of recovery rather than avoidance. Well at least that’s sorted.

To be consistent with your lie of avoidance, you actually _do_ pick up a project. You’ve worked on large robots before but what if you could get a very small one to interact almost like a toy? It’s something you’d considered before but hadn’t ever gotten around to doing.

You start off with a little Tavros since you know his anatomy the best and wouldn’t be too difficult to recreate. Or so you thought. Until you had to put it into miniature. Then the project becomes downright frustrating. To the point you have to take several breaks from your bench before you destroy something accidentally.

Stretching your legs, you decide to head to the nutrition block when you hear something. Oh. Is someone already in there? You suppose you wouldn’t mind some brief conversation with someone before going back to your workbench to keep avoiding Karkat.

Was that a crash?

You move to open the door quickly and then hear… what? Was that what you think it was? Why would someone be moaning in the nutrition block? Are they injured?

Cracking open the door, you see two forms pressed together. Confused, you move to open it wider to make sure they’re not strifing when you hear it again. That was definitely a moan. What?

Squinting your eyes to see who it is, you see one head has two pairs of shorter horns. Sollux. And you can’t see the other but it doesn’t look like an altercation. But you do hear some kind of hissing and then tearing. Oh. Oh _shit_.

Deciding to abscond before you embarrass yourself further by being detected, you practically _sprint_ back to your respiteblock. It was rather clear what was happening when you saw shreds of cloth hit the floor. There was no mistake who those two were – Sollux and Karkat. And there was absolutely no mistake as to what they were doing. Though you really hope for everyone’s sake that they either get a room before they need a bucket or have the good sense to clean everything.

Your face has never in your entire life been more on fire when you lock yourself behind your door, sinking to the floor to just bury it in your hands.

Gods alive, you didn’t mean to see that. You didn’t mean to see that at all. You just wanted a sandwich or something! You didn’t know that the yellowblood had decided to pail your leader right there. Where anybody could walk in and see them. Or at least hatesnog. You’re not entirely sure what the details were but you do know that Karkat was missing his shirt.

And oh you hate yourself for the pain in your pants. You hate yourself for wanting to see those bright red grubscars again. But you can’t stop thinking about them. It must have been Karkat moaning because it wasn’t reedy enough to be the other. Moaning… and hissing… and...

You’re going to ruin your pants at this rate. As well as the carpet beneath you since you’re positively dripping. Crap.

You have no idea where a pail would happen to be so your best bet is the ablution trap since you’re not particularly in the mood to clean up a sticky mess of blue. Toeing your shoes off, your socks are soon to follow and before you can really think about the steps it’s taken you to get here, you’re crouching in the tub to turn on the water. Easier clean up if it washes down the drain. Besides, a shower should cool you off reasonably.

Sighing into the warmth, you lean against one wall and let out a low groan of your own. That was not something you meant to see and you can already feel your bulge peeking out of the edge of your seedflap. Oh this is terrible. You really ought to calm yourself.

Grabbing your shampoo, you try to think of things that aren’t arousing. Such as robots. Robots are cold metal that require instruments. And oh…. Your fingers in your hair are lovely aren’t they? Almost like-

No! You must remain strong! You can’t think of those gentle fingers in your hair, with a brush, with oil, that voice fussing in your ear as you pap his cheek. Of how his voice seemed to curl in the air when he moaned, sure no one was there to hear. His face must have flushed red in response. It must have been beautiful to see.

This is the point in which you realize you can’t control yourself. Mostly because you can feel a wetness sliding down your leg but also because your bulge has decided to squirm its way out and into the air. You know it’s looking for something warm to either penetrate or wrap around and the feeling of it curling around itself is highly uncomfortable and embarrassing. You’re aroused over something you hadn’t intended to see.

Letting the shampoo rinse down your back, you let your right hand ghost down to grasp yourself firmly. You gasp and shudder, not having done this in a very long time. But it’s so natural, your bulge curling over your wrist and massaging between your fingers as you stroke ever so gently. Oh goodness.

You let your thoughts wander back to that beautiful sound. Is that the sound he’d make if you pressed your lips to his neck? Would he shudder against you? Mewl for more? The fantasy forming in your thinkpan is both romantic and lewd, Karkat spread across the floor of your respiteblock, a space cleared just for him. Your hips pressed between his legs as you explore his lithe body, mouth suckling on every sensitive area from his horns to his scars.

You cry out at the thought and adjust yourself so your left arm is against the wall, your face buried into it just in case someone heard your gentle moans through one of the vents. You could never be too careful, as you'd realized just moments ago.

How red would his bulge be? What would he taste like, curling in the back of your throat? You wonder about the thickness of his genetic material, how it would collect in your mouth. Karkat’s hands in your hair, on your horns, voice _begging_ for you.

_Equius. Equius, please!_

You shudder, biting into your bicep to stifle your moan. Since he’s a lowblood, he’d be impossibly hot against your tongue, your fingers, and your bulge. Would he allow you to penetrate him, perhaps? Oh goodness, what infinite pleasure. You know from your own experimentations with your body nooks are tight but as your leader is much smaller than you, would you even fit inside?

Moaning again at the thought of stuffing your flushcrush full with your thick bulge, you jerk at yourself again. The thoughts of such lewd pailing haven’t haunted you like this since when you were interested in Aradia. And even then, you hadn’t imagined yourself actively fucking her. Just perhaps kisses. Not this.

If you couldn’t fit, would he take you on your knees? The thought of spreading your legs so he can get shameglobe deep in your nook is enough to make your legs go weak. He could go as hard and as fast as he wanted, no worry about hurting you at all. And judging from his usual impatience, there would be no mercy.

It’s become dangerous by this point to remain standing so you slowly lower yourself to your knees, trying not to break anything. Spreading your legs as wide as the tub walls will allow, you begin to really stroke at your bulge, thinking of how lovely it would be on your knees. Bent over, face hidden in your arms as you moaned out his name. The thoughts are so delicious.

Carefully, you let one finger circle the lips of your nook before you plunge into the base where your finger and palm meet which causes you to whimper. Oh dear. You’re so wet, blue all over your hands and you can’t stop. You’re so close, so _terribly close_ thinking of pailing Karkat. You add a second finger.

Breaths coming short now, you stroke yourself as you finally let your imagination wander into forbidden territory. To ropes and restraints holding you back, to keep you from hurting another. Of being used for his most selfish fantasies. It’s terrible how badly you wish for him to use you, shameful and hot. No pail, defiling you as he wishes.

You cry out as you jerk your bulge one last time, Karkat’s name on your lips long and loud, orgasm warm in your belly. If anyone were close they’d be able to hear you through the vents and know exactly what it is you’re doing to yourself. They’d know what you were thinking and if you’d wished to be subtle and keep your feelings a secret, if anyone overheard you there’s no point now. Though as far as you’re aware no one is this deep in the meteor currently anyways.

Panting, you watch the blue swirl down the drain as your bulge retracts back behind your seedflap for protection. You raise your hands to the water to wash the filth away, hoping to take with it the guilt of betrayal, shame of what you’ve just finished. But you know you’ll continue to carry it with you despite these wishes.

You stand to condition your hair and wash yourself completely before stepping out to dry yourself. You truly are a disgrace, unable to keep from touching yourself over the sound of a mere moan. Disgusting.

But you end up back at your bench, working again anyways. Even if you can’t. Stop. Thinking. About. That. Moan. Fiddlesticks. Sighing, you return to your pile only to find Karkat there. He has a fresh bruise on his neck you’re fully aware of who put it there. And what exactly the two of them were doing. Crap. Just… wow. You had no idea you’d find a stupid little mark on his neck _sexy_ of all things. You’re so screwed.

“Brought sandwiches again. You shower?” he asks, handing you one and you nod.

“I spilled oil,” you lie easily. “And it’s not the easiest to work machinery covered in the stuff.

He nods, taking a bite. You assume that’s a sign that this is safe to eat. He and Sollux must have found a room before needing a pail or you’d be worried about the food you ate for about the next month, constantly worried it was tainted with someone’s genetic material. Was that something they did often? Did you have to suddenly worry about your caloric intake consisting in part of their combined efforts?

Trying not to show your concern, you take a bite. Karkat, in turn, leans on you as he begins his tirade of words. “I really should have been more fucking considerate earlier talking about this blackrom shit with Sollux. It probably made you really uncomfortable to know-”

“It’s fine,” you wrap an arm around him. “I honestly don’t mind.”

“Well because you were starting to sweat earlier and I thought maybe-”

“Don't worry about it.”

“Idiot,” he sighs as if it’s a term of endearment for you.

You eat in relative silence, Karkat occasionally punctuating with questions about your project you can finally be honest about. Toys. Toys? Yes toys. You explain how you thought perhaps you could make miniature robots. Replicas of your friends since obviously you could make the life sized version with ease. Why not stretch your abilities and work in miniature.

He nods and you find your bloodpusher squeezing. You really want to press that kiss to his forehead but you really can’t. Nepeta. She’d be furious with you, absolutely furious. And would his kismesis really approve of such a strong troll entering such a quadrant with his pailmate? You could potentially pose a threat, yes?

The lowblood’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. Suddenly, you feel as if something rather serious is about to occur. You hope it doesn’t. And yet life is never so kind.

“Equius,” you can see him gnawing at his lip ever so gently. You almost want to kiss the tiny bruise forming better.

“Yes?” you swallow the last bite of your sandwich. When did your fingers intertwine? You need to stop that.

“Answer me honestly.”

“Ok?”

“How long,” he takes a deep breath as if steeling himself. You’ve never seen him like this. What does he need to calm his nerves for? “How long… have you been flushed for me?”

You blink a couple of times before you get your thinkpan in order long enough to process his words. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” the set of his jaw is stubborn. “Be honest. How long have you been flushed for me?”

It seems you’ve landed yourself in a serious problem.


End file.
